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JC^rtts of Stgbt anti Kite : 

LIV. Original Poems by 

Dr.- John H. Newman, William Alexander, Bp. o/Derry, Cbrijlina 

G. Rojletti, Aubrey de Were, J. C. Earle, W. Cbatterton Dix, R^t . 

Gerard Moultrie, Rev. Henry Kutcombe Qxenbam, Rev. R. 

H. Brtjynes, H. W. Mozley, Rev. A. M. Morgan, Rer. 

Edward Cafivall, B. Montgomerie Ranking, Rev. 

R. S. HtfivAer, Rev. Jo/w Purcbas, Rev. W. J. 

B/ew, Rev. Dr. Monfell, Hedley Vicars, H. 

M. Stuart, D. Mackivortb Volben, $Jc. 

Edited by thejfyv'' Frederick 

George Lee, D.C.L. 


London: PICKERING & CO., 196, Piccadilly. 


Accent) edition, fietrifet ttnfi tfnhugtiJ. 

Forte Jcutum Salus Ducum. 

Dedicated with Refpeffi and Regard to the Right 
Honourable Thomas Fortefcue, Lord Clermont, 



And to Louifa, Lady Clermont , 
of Raven/dale Park, in the County of Louth . 

* Beati 



CANNOT fend forth this volume with- 
out placing on record my great obliga- 
tions, and heartieft thanks, to all thofe 
whofe valued and truly-prized contribu- 
tions have made it what it is. This I now do. 

Planned more than ten years ago, and put afide 
for fome time by other and more preffing duties, 
it has been to me at once an agreeable relaxation 
and a very great pleafure, from time to time, to 
fecure from many friends and others the various 
Chriftian Lyrics which follow,— for which I here 
exprefs my fincere acknowledgments. I feel deeply 
honoured by having been permitted to gather and 
arrange such a poetical pofy ; and this from fo many 
who have won their laurels. 

Two of the contributors, whofe memories are 
frequently before me, my old and dear friend the 
Rev. John Purchas, and Mr. Mackworth Dolben, 
of Finedon Hall, — a young writer of intenfe refine- 
ment, deep fpirituality, and great promife, (who 
met an untimely death,) have pafTed away from 
fight and ken. 

The poems of thefe writers may be all the more 
valued, therefore, becaufe with them the pen has been 
laid down, the hand is cold, and the heart is ftill. 


Prefatory Note. 

I have only to add that no author is refponfible 
for anything more than his own contribution. 

F. G. L. 

All Saints' Vicarage, Lambeth, 
November 4, 1874. 


jT is a fource of fatisfa£tion to me that a 
book which appealed neither to the -or- 
dinary multitude nor to commonplace 
taftes, has fo foon reached a fecond edition. 
This, having been carefully revifed, only differs from 
the firft in that it contains eleven new poems. To 
the refpective authors of thefe I tender my fincere 

Since its publication three more of the original 
contributors have palled onward to the life beyond 
the grave — Mr. Hawker, the Vicar of Morwenftow ; 
Father Cafwall, of the Birmingham Oratory, and 
Dr. Monfell. Requiefcant in pace. 

F. G. L. 

Invention of the Holy Crofs, 


3ELOW and Above 
My Birthday 
A Rofe Plant in 

The Silver Army 

The Bafilica of St. Mark, Venice 

A May Carol .... 

From the Cloifter . 

Defecration .... 

On the Baptifm of a Child 

The Death of Ermengarde 

India's Dream 

Our Reft .... 

The Sifter of Mercy 

The Other Side 

White is the colour of Angels . 

Our Ladv of the Snows . 

Lord Bijhop of Derry 

Very Rev. J. H. Newman, D.D, 

Miss Chrifiina G. RoJJetti 

Rev. John Purchas, M.A. 

Rev. F. G. Lee, D.C.L. 

Aubrey de Vere, Ejq. 

Digby Macktuorth Dc/ben, Ejq, 

W. Chatter ton Dix, Ejq. 

Mijs Nora Batt . 

Aubrey de Vere, Ejq, 

Rev. Arthur Middlemore Mor 

gan, M.A. . 
Mrs. Frederick George Lee 
Folliott Sandford Pierpoint, Efq, 
Rev. R. H. Canon Baynes, M.A. 
Rev. George Akers, M.A. 









"Let the Hills hear Thy Voice" 

The Servant of Chrift . 
Golden Rays .... 
Dreams ..... 
In Hoc Signo Vince 
Angelus Domini 
The Child's Offering 

A Dream of Paradile 

The Bread of Life . 

River Thoughts 

Purbrook, Hampfhire 

Hymn after Holy Communion . 

Salve mi Angelice . 

A Legend of the Weeping Willow 

The Holy Souls 

The Trouvere 

Hymn of Praife 

The Ship in the Storm . 

Corporate Reunion . 

Super Flumina 

Immaculata .... 

Another fleeting Day is gone . 


Rev. Henry Nutcombe Oxen- 
ham, M.A. . . .62 
Rev. J. S. B. Monfell, LL.D. 66 
C. A.M.W.. . . 69 



Re<v. John Purchas, M.A. 
Anonymous . 

Digby Mackivorth Dolben, Efq, 
Rev. TVilliam Edivard Green, 

M.A. . . .79 

Mifs Helen Montagu Stuart . 84 

Anonymous . . . Sj 

Rev. W. J. Blew, M.A. . 91 

Rev. Arthur M. Morgan, M.A. 94 
Anonymous . . . .96 

H. IV. Mo%ley> Efq., M.A. . 98 

B. Montgomer'te Ranking, Efq. 102 

Mrs. Frederick George Lee . 104 

Aubrey de Vere, EJq. . . 10 J 

Rev. J. S. B. Monfell, LL.D. 108 

«r. Nr . . . .in 

John Charles Earle, EJq., B.A. 114 
Folliott Sandford Pierpoint, Efq. 1 1 5 
Aubrey de Vere, Efq. . . 1 1 8 

"I." . . . .121 



In God's Sight 

Thy Kingdom Come. No. I. . 

Thy Kingdom Come. No. II. 
The Two Crowns . 
Eventide .... 

Hymn for All Saints' Day 
The Great Cloud of WitnefTes . 

Unknown Graves . 
Manet Sabbatifmus . 
Compline Hymn 
Light in the Darknefs 
For a Young Girl with a Book 
of Carols 


All Saints' and All Souls' Days at 

All Saints', Lambeth, 1877 

Aurora ..... 

My Home .... 


Rev. Edward Cajivall, M.A. 122 
Rev. William Edward Green, 

M.A. . . .124 

Rev. F. G. Lee, D.C.L. .126 
Folliott Sandford Pierpoint, Efq. 131 
Hedley Vicars . . . 1 34 

Rev. Gerard Moultrie, M.A . 1 36 
Author efs of (l The Departed 

and other Verfes " . .138 

Rev. F. G. Lee, D.C.L. . 141 

B. Montgomerie Ranking, Efq. 144 
Anonymous . . . .147 

Norval Clyne, Efq. . .149 

Rev. W. J. Blew, M.A. .153 
Anonymous . . . 155 

Rev. F. G. Lee, D.C.L. . 159 

Rev. R. S. Hawker, M.A. . 162 
Mijs Helen Montagu Stuart . 165 

u An arid plain, with rocky mountains lit, 

From time to time, with funfhine, frowning by j — 

Such was my path. Alone and folitary 

I took my way. So lone it might have been 

My laft dread journey into Death's dark vale ; 

(For each one takes that journey all alone.) 

Above, black clouds ; around, the wailing wind ; 

While onward, o'er the level plains of fand, 

No ftreak of filver heralded the Day. 

Yet on the wind, when o'er me darkeft night, 

There came glad words with mufic weird and faint, 

Lyrics of Light and Life, — angelic {trains 

Echoed from Home on Earth or Home above, 

To fpeed a footfore Wanderer on his way." 

" The Sorrows of Setuallix" 


Upttcs of 3Ugt)t and 3Ufe* 


|OWN below, the wild November whift- 
Through the beech's dome of burning 
And the Autumn fprinkling penitential 
Duft and afhes on the cheftnut's head. 

Down below, a pall of airy purple, 

Darkly hanging from the mountain fide, 

And the funfet from his eyebrow ftaring 
O'er the long roll of the leaden tide. 

Up above, the tree with leaf unfading 
By the everlafting river's brink, 

And the fea of glafs, beyond the margin 
Never yet the fun was known to fink. 


Below and Above. 

Down below, the white wings of the fea-bird, 
Dafh'd acrofs the furrows dark with mould, 

Flitting with the memories of our childhood 
Through the trees now waxen pale and old. 

Down below, imaginations quivering 

Through our human fpirits like the wind, 

Thoughts that tofs like leaves about the woodland, 
Hopes like fea-birds flafh'd acrofs the mind. 

Up above, the hoft no man can number, 
In white robes, a palm in every hand ; 

Each fome work fublime for ever working, 
In the fpacious tracts of that great land. 

Up above, the thoughts that know not anguifh, 
Tender care, fweet love for us below, 

Noble pity free from anxious terror, 
Larger love without a touch of woe. 

Below and Above. 

Down below, a fad myfterious mufic, 

Wailing through the woods and on the more, 

Burdened with a grand majeftic fecret 
That keeps fweeping from us evermore. 

Up above, a mufic that entwineth, 
With eternal threads of golden found, 

The great poem of this ftrange exiftence, 

All whofe wondrous meaning hath been found. 

Down below, the Church to whofe poor window 
Glory by the autumnal trees is lent, 

And a knot of worfhippers in mourning, 
Miffing fome one at the Sacrament. 

Up above, the burft of Alleluia, 
And (without the facramental mift 

Wrapt around us like a funlit halo) 

The great vifion of the Face of Chrifl. 


Below and Above. 

Down below, cold funlight on the tombftones, 
And the green wet turf with faded flowers ; 

Winter rofes, once like young hopes burning, 
Now beneath the ivy dripped with fhowers. 

And the new-made grave within the churchyard, 
And the white cap on that young face pale, 

And the watcher, ever as it dufketh, 

Rocking to and fro with that long wail. 

Up above, a crowned and happy fpirit, 
Like an infant in the eternal years, 

Who fhall grow in love and light for ever, 
Ordered in his place among his peers. 

O the fobbing of the winds of Autumn, 
And the funfet ftreak of ftormy gold, 

And the poor heart, thinking in the churchyard, 
" Night is coming and the grave is cold." 

Below and Above. 

O the pale and plafhed and fodden rofes, 
And the defolate heart that grave above, 

And the white cap (halting as it darkens 
Round that fhrine of memory and love. 

O the reft for ever, and the rapture, 

And the Hand that wipes the tears away \ 

And the golden homes beyond the funfet, 
And the hope that watches o'er the clay ! 

All Saints 1 Day, 1857. 

William Alexander, 

BiJJwp of Derry. 


|ET the fun fummon all his beams to hold 
Bright pageant in his court, the cloud- 
paved fky; 

Earth trim her fields and leaf her copfes cold ; 
Till the dull month with fummer-fplendour vie. 
It is my Birthday ; — and I fain would try, 
Albeit in rude, in heartfelt {trains to praife 

My God, for He hath fhielded wondroufly 
From harm and envious error all my ways, 
And purged my mifty fight, and fixed on heaven 
my gaze. 

Not in that mood, in which the infenfate crowd 
Of wealthy folly hail their natal day, — 

With riot throng, and feaft, and greetings loud, 
Chafing all thoughts of God and heaven away. 

My Birthday. 


Poor infect ! feebly daring, madly gay, 
What ! joy becaufe the fulnefs of the year 

Marks thee for greedy death a riper prey ? 
Is not the filence of the grave too near ? 
Vieweft thou the end with glee, meet fcene for 
harrowing fear ? 

Go then, infatuate ! where the feftive hall, 

The curious board, the oblivious wine invite ; 
Speed with obfequious hafte at Pleafure's call, 

And with thy revels fcare the far-fpent night. 

Joy thee, that clearer dawn upon thy fight 
The gates of death ; — and pride thee in thy fum 

Of guilty years, and thy increafing white 
Of locks j in age untimely frolickfome, 
Make much of thy brief fpan, few years are yet to 
come ! 

Yet wifer fuch, than he whom blank defpair 
And foftered grief's ungainful toil enflave ; 


My Birthday. 

Lodged in whofe furrowed brow thrives fretful care, 
Sour graft of blighted hope ; who, when the 

Of evil rufhes, yields, — yet claims to rave 

At his own deed, as the ftern will of heaven. 
In footh againft his Maker idly brave, 

Whom e'en the creature-world has toffed and driven, 

Curfing the life he mars, "a boon fo kindly given." 1 

He dreams of mifchief; and that brainborn ill 

Man's open face bears in his jealous view. 
Fain would he fly his doom ; that doom is ftill 

His own black thoughts, and they mull: aye 

Too proud for merriment, or the pure dew 
Soft gliftening on the fympathizing cheek ; 

As fome dark, lonely, evil-natured yew, 

1 " Is life a boon fo kindly given? 1 ' &c. — Vide Childe 
Harold, cant. ii. 

My Birthday. 

Whofe poifonous fruit — fo fabling poets fpeak — 
Beneath the moon's pale gleam the midnight hag 
doth feek. 

No ! give to me, Great Lord, the conftant foul, 

Nor fooled by pleafure nor enflaved by care ; 
Each rebel-paffion (for Thou canft) controul, 

And make me know the tempter's every fnare. 

What, though alone my fober hours I wear, 
No friend in view, and fadnefs o'er my mind 

Throws her dark veil? — Thou but accord this 
And I will blefs Thee for my birth, and find 
That ftillnefs breathes fweet tones, and lonelinefs 
is kind. 

Each coming year, O grant it to refine 
All purer motions of this anxious breaft ; 

Kindle the fteadfaft flame of love divine, 

And comfort me with holier thoughts poffeil: ; 


My Birthday. 

Till this worn body flowly fink to reft, 
This feeble fpirit to the fky afpire, — 

As fome long-prifon'd dove toward her neft — 
There to receive the gracious full-toned lyre, 
Bowed low before the Throne 'mid the bright feraph 

J. H. Newman. 

Trinity College, Oxford. 
February 21, 18 19. 


T morn I plucked a rofe and gave it Thee, 
A rofe of joy and happy love and peace, 
A rofe with fcarce a thorn : 
But in the chillnefs of a fecond morn 
My rofe-bufh drooped, and all its gay increafe 
Was but one thorn that wounded me. 

I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee ; 
And for my thorn Thou gaveft love and peace, 
Not joy this mortal morn : 
If Thou haft given much treafure for a thorn, 
Wilt Thou not give me for my rofe increafe 
Of gladnefs, and all fweets to me ? 

My thorny rofe, my love and pain, to Thee 
I offer ; and I fet my heart in peace, 

1 2 A Rofe Plant in 'Jericho. 

And reft upon my thorn : 
For verily I think to-morrow morn 
Shall bring me Paradife, my gift's increafe, 
Yea, give Thy very Self to me. 

Christina G. Rossetti. 



" There is neither fpeech nor language : but their voices 
are heard among them. 11 

UTHLESSLY the bare bright wheel of 

antique Time goes round, 
And Middle Age has fet his foot on Youth's 
enchanted ground ; 
The port has waxed more ftately, the brow has 

fterner grown, 
The Anile is touched with fadnefs, and the man 
feels more alone. 


Ah, me ! the golden lovelocks are changing into 

For God's filver filent army, no man may keep at 
bay : 

x 4 

The Silver Army. 

And fince I may not frown you down, nor motion 

you away — 
O filver, filent monitors ! what is it ye would 



" Where is ( the purple light of love/ and where 

the creeds of youth ? 
The faith in Manhood's honour, the repofe on 

Woman's truth ? 
The fummer friendfhip vanifhed when the ftorm 

began to rave, 
And falfe Egeria fl umbers calmly in her village 



" Life's gambler ! thou haft loft thy ftake — and 

what is left but gloom ? 
The fairy palace of Romance transformed into a 


The Silver Army. 


Dry is now thy fountain, Numa ! — gone the dreamy 

grotto life — 
Where the glamour of the Nymph-land — lo ! the 

cold decorous wife ! " 

O filver filent multitude ! Thefe voices are not 

Thy glittering mail was forged by a Hand that is 

Divine : 
Numa has flill a tryfting-place, Life's glory has not 

For holy wedlock's crowned Queen reigns on 

Egeria's throne. 


Still in my creed man's honour and woman's love 

abide — 
The phantafy of Boyhood with that village maiden 



The Silver Army. 

The deep ftrong heart of manhood, the worfhip of 

a life — 
The flainlefs fame, the honoured name, thefe, thefe 

I gave my wife ! 


The chivalry of labour is toil for others done — 

By the worker, not the dreamer, are the ftar and 

mantle won ; 
Who works for home and country, for him God's 

angel fings — 
" O labourer worthy of thy hire — the aureole and 

the wings." 


O mother of my children, the filvery hofts of 

Bear in their hands enchanters' wands, and not th' 

avenging; rod : 

The Silver Army. 

J 7 

They point unto the land youth deemed fo very far 

away 1 — 
But Heaven looks nearer to us when the hair is 

growing grey. 

John Purchas. 

1 " They fhall behold the land that is very far off/ 1 — Ifaiah 

xxxiij. 17. 



STATELY palace of the Triune God, 
A myftic fanctuary of gloom and gleam, 
With marbled faints, where twinkling 
lamps are hung, 
And joyful bells ring out with filvery tongue, 
Telling how fwiftly moves on old Time's ftream, 
And how great races knew th' avenging rod. 
Nor Occidental rites are here alone, . 
Nor Oriental forms. Majeftic fongs 
Of Mary, round Incarnate God's high Throne, 
Sung by Her children, gathered nigh in throngs 
Where ftill repofe the relics of Saint Mark. 
Link of the Eaft and Weft, but One true Ark. 

Nations ! turn eaftward in thy weftern pride, 
Eafterns look weftward — Adria is bright ! 

77^ Bajilica of St. Mark, Venice. 19 

Blue waters fleep around, or, night-ftarred, glide 
Near fhrines, 'mid Earth's dark defert, of God's 


In peace, Lord, may thy fervant now depart, 

My wondering eyes have k^i\ this heavenly fight, 

And I would choofe henceforth the better part : 
Grant it, O Chrift, whene'er draws on the Night, 
After Earth's toil and moil, to where is light, 

Lord, may thy fervant then in peace depart ! 

Frederick George Lee. 

Venice, Nov. 15, 1877. 


S this, indeed, our ancient earth ? 

Or have we died in fleep and rifen ? 
Has Earth, like man, her fecond birth ? 
Rifes the palace from the prifon ? 

Hills beyond hills afcend the fkies ; 

In winding valleys, heaven-fufpended, 
Huge forefts, rich as funfet's dyes, 

With rainbow-braided clouds are blended. 

From melting fnows through coverts dank 
White torrents rufh to yon blue mere, 

Flooding its glazed and grafly bank, 
The mirror of the milk-white fleer. 

A May Carol 


What means it ? Glory, fweetnefs, might ? 

Not thefe, but fomething holier far — 
Shadows of Him that Light of Light, 

Whofe prieftly veftment all things are. 

The veil of fenfe tranfparent grows : 
God's Face mines out, that veil behind, 

Like yonder fea-reflecled mows — 
Here man muft worfhip, or be blind. 

Aubrey de Vere. 



[The monk Jerome feated in the cloi/ler.~\ 

TO have wandered in the days that were, 
Through the fweet groves of green 
Academe ! 

Or (hrouded in the night of olive boughs, 
Have watched the ftarry clufters overhead 
Twinkle and quiver in the perfumed breeze — 
That breeze which, foftly wafted from afar, 
Mingled with ruftling leaves and fountain's fplafh, 
The boyifh laughter and the maiden's fong. 
Or couched among the beds of pale-pink thyme 
That fringe Cephiffus with his purple pools, 
Have idly liftened while fweet voices fung 
Of all thofe ancient victories of love 
That never weary, and that never die. 

From the Cloijier. 

2 3 

Of Sappho's leap, Leander's nightly fwim, 
Of wandering Echo, and the Trojan maid, 
For whom all ages fhed their pitying tears : 
Or that fair legend, deareft of them all, 
That tells us how the hyacinth was born. 
Next to have mingled in the eas;er crowd 
That, queftioning, circled fome philofopher : 
Young eyes that gliflened, and young cheeks that 

For love of Truth, the great Indefinite. 
Truth — beautiful as feem the diftant hills, 
Veiled in foft purple-crags, whereon is found 
No tender plant in the uncreviced rock, 
But clinging lichen, and black mrivelled mofs. — 
So mould day pafs, till from the fummer fky, 
Behind the marble mrincs and palaces, 
The big fun fink, reddening the iEgean Sea. 
So mould life pafs, as flows the clear brown ftream, 
And fcarcely flirs the water-lilies' leaves. 
Life here, methinks, is like to fome canal, 

2 4 

From the Cloijier. 

Dull, meafured, muddy, warning flowerlefs banks. 

funny Athens ! home of life and love ! 
Free, joyous life that I may never live ! 
Warm, glowing love, that I may never know. 
Home of Apollo, god of Poetry ! 

Dear bright-haired god, in whom I half believe, 
Come to me, as thou didft come to Semele, 
Trailing acrofs the hills thy faffron robe, 
And catch me heavenward wrapped in golden mifls. 

I weary of this fqualid holinefs ; 

1 weary of thefe hot black draperies ; 
I weary of the incenfe-thickened air, 
The chiming of the inevitable bells; 

The chanting too ! — can man be made for this — 
To hold his tongue all day, and fing all night ? 

My boyhood, hurried over, but once gone 
For ever mourned — return for one fhort hour ! 
Friends of paft days, light up thefe cloifter walls 

From the Cloijier. 


With your bright prefences, and ftarry eyes, 
And make the cold grey vaulting ring again 
With tinkling laughter — Ah, they come ! 

come ! 
I fhut my eyes, and fancy that I hear 
The funlit ripples kifs the willow boughs. 


But I forget myfelf ; I muft confefs 
All this to-morrow : thoughts — oh, let me fee ! — 
Of difcontent, and floth, and a diflike 
To hear the clanging of the bleffed bells ; 
And fomething elfe. Ah, well ! all lovely things 
That this vile earth affords — wood, mountain, 

The regal faces, and the godlike eyes 
We fee, the tender voices that we hear, 
Are but mere fhadows : the reality 
Is — what ? A fomething up above the clouds. 
From every carven niche the ftony faints 
Stretch out their wafted hands in mute reproach ; 


From the Cloijier. 

And from the Crucifix, the great wan Chrift 
Shows me His bleeding wounds and thorny crown. 
Then, hark ! I hear from many a lonely grave, 
From blood-ftained fands of amphitheatres, 
From loathfome dungeon, and from blackened ftake, 
A cry — the martyrs' cry — " Behold the Man ! " 

I hate myfelf, I hate this myftery, — 
The dread neceffity of fuffering. 
Is there no place in all the univerfe 
To hide me in ? no little ifland girt 
With waves to drown the echo of that cry, 
" Behold the Man, the Man of Calvary " ? 

[Brother Francis crojjing the cloijier, /tugs.] 

Sweeteft Jefu, Thou art He 

To Whom my foul afpires ; 
Sweeteft Jefu, Thou art He 

Whom my whole heart defires. 

From the Cloijier. 


To love Thee, oh the extafy, 

The rapture and the joy ! 
All earthly loves foon pafs away, 

All earthly pleafures cloy. 

But whofo loves the Son of God 

Of love fhall never tire, 
But through and through fhall burn and glow 
With Love's undying fire. 

[He enters the chapel.] 
Digby Mackworth Dolben. 


HOUSE of prayer once confecrate 
To God's high fervice — defolate ! 
A ruin where once flood a fhrine, 
Bright with the Prefence all divine ! 
Tread foftly here ! 'tis hallowed ground, 
And faithful hearts ftill find around 
Traces of things which once were here 
In days of love and reverent fear. 

This is no common fpot of earth, 
No place for idle words or mirth ; 
Here ftreamed the taper's myftic light, 
Here flamed the waving cenfers bright, 
Awhile the Church's ancient fong 
Lingered thefe ftately aifles among, 
And high myfterious words were faid 
Which brought to men the Living Bread. 



O fhame on thofe who will not own 
The ruined fhrine God's altar throne ! 
What though long years have come and gone 
Since the laft rite was duly done, 
Since the laft Sacrament was given, 
Since the laft prayer went up to Heaven ! 
True, men have wrought its fad difgrace, 
But ftill it is God's Holy Place. 

O it is eafy work to fay 

" A purer Faith, a Gofpel day, 

Put all fuch holy ground afide, 

And count all Nature fanclified." 

It is not hard to dogmatize 

And preach of " fuperftitious lies ;" 

To mock at " prieftcraft," and to fearch 

For fome pet text to curfe the Church : 

But it is hard to bear the jeer, 

To have the World's cold-hearted fneer, 



The fneer the World for ever flings 

At holy men and facred things. 

Courage ! who fight the Crofs beneath 

Muft fight unto the very death ! 

Faith, Hope, and Love the World mall win 

From felf, from facrilege and fin ! 

W. Chatterton Dix. 



ABE, awake ! the fun is high, 
See, its beams are in the fky ; 
Warm it mines 'mid cloudlet torn, 
On thy bright baptifmal morn. 

Wake thee ! for the Church to-day 
Yearns to greet thee on thy way ; 
Hark ! the bells ring joyfully, 
Holy welcome, babe, for thee. 

Child of Adam ! doft thou bear 
Stain of fin on face fo fair ? 
Gift of God, oh ! muft we fee 
Sin's dark heritage in thee ? 


32 On the Baptifm of a Child. 

Wake thee from thy light repofe ! 
Holy Church would thee enclofe, 
Thee within her arms would hold, 
Make thee lamb of Jefu's fold. 


]AB Y fleep ! the fun is low. 
Evening fhadows come and go ; 
Sleep, for on thy gentle brow 
Gleams the Crofs of Jefus now. 

Calm thou Heft in thy cot, 
All thy baby woes forgot ; 
Fair thy drefs, thy face how fair, 
God's own image thou doft bear. 

On the Baptifm of a Child. 33 

In the ftill baptifmal hour, 
O'er thee fell the Spirit's power ; 
In the bleft Thrice-Holy Name, 
Thou art warned from fin and ihame. 

Brighteft drops of heavenly dew, 
Then refrefhed thy foul anew ; 
Child of God thou art become, 
Heir of His eternal Home. 

'Neath the Crofs His children fight, 
Boldly they maintain the right ; 
Thou His banner muft uphold, 
And in His dear caufe be bold. 

Sleep thee, babe, beneath His care, 
Angels to thy cot repair ; 
Holy Guardians of the night 
Guide thy tender dreams aright. 

34 On the Baptifm of a Child. 

We around will kneel and pray 
That the bleflings wrought this day, 
May through life fuftain thy foul 
Till it reach the heavenly goal. 

Nora Batt. 



[A girl /peaks.) 

SAD, fweet end — 

She fat upon the threfhold of her door : 
A long night's pain had left her living ftill : 
Her cheek was white -> but trembling round her lips, 
And dimly o'er her face difFufed, there lay- 
Something that, held in check by feeblenefs, 
Yet tended to a fmile. A cloak, tight-drawn, 
From the cold March-wind fcreened her, fave one 

Stretched on her knee, that reached to where a beam, 
Thin flip of watery funmine, funfet's laft, 
Slanted through frofty branches. On that beam 
(It brightened well that faded hand), methought, 
Refted her eyes, half-clofed. It was not fo : 

36 The Death of Ermengarde. 

For when I knelt and kiffed that hand ill-warmed, 
Smiling, fhe faid, " The fmall unwedded maid 
Has miffed her mark ! You mould have kiffed the 

Full fifty years upon a widowed hand 
It holds its own. It takes its lateft funfhine ! " 
She lived through all that night, and died while 

Through fnows Saint Jofeph's morn. 

Aubrey de Vere. 



ROTHER! after fet of day 
'Neath your weftern ftars I lay, 
And I looked on other bowers, 

And I dreamed of dreaming flowers. 

O how fair the garden-glades ! 

O how ftrange their central fhades ! 

In the heart of leaf and bloom, 

Lo ! a folitary tomb. 


I too fee, but not in dream, 
'Neath all ftars a garden gleam ; 
All things fragrant, all things white, 
There lie buried in the night. 


India s Dream. 

Wonder not that one fhould die, 
One in garden-tomb mould lie, 
When thou mayft that garden fcan 
Made a tomb, the foul of man. 


This life's captives break their chain, 

And to funlight pafs again, 

This life's captives hope — the grave, 

Never has fet free its Have. 

O the vifion of my head ! 

Empty was that garden-bed, 

And a voice ftruck on my ear, 

" He is rifen ! He is not here ! " 


I, not lefs, the winter flown, 
See a vifion like thy own, 
When, from a dead life unfeen, 
Wave the fields with living green ; 

India s Dream. 


I fhall fee, and thou, and all, 

At the World's great funeral, 

A true garden every tomb, 

Whence the dead fhall fpring and bloom. 


In the place where flowers blow 

Gardeners pafs to and fro ; 

One feemed fet to drefs and keep 

The fair garden of my fleep. 

O with wounded feet and hands 

In the funrife here He ftands, 

And I own Him, Seed, Sun, Showers, 

Gardener of all God's flowers ! 

In the drought men water bring 
Thirfty flowers watering : 
I am thirfty ; flood thou me 
With the Chrift of Calvary. 

4 o 

India s Dream. 


In the Name of Father, Son, 
And of Him, the Holy One, 
Live — and light the ftarlefs fod ; 
England owes to Ind her God. 



IGHT falls apace, the {hades grow long 
Athwart the dewy lawn ; 
Blithe birds pipe out their evenfong, 
Flowers clofe till welcome dawn. 

Behind the hill-tops, finking low, 
Paffed the great Sun away ; 

Now paler fpreads fair faffron glow 
Amid the deepening grey. 

All feek repofe when night is nigh — 
The tender doves their neft, 

The lambs, fafe-folded, fleeping lie, 
The babe on mother's breaft. 


Our Reji. 

So feek we, Lord, in Thee to reft, 
Who lengtheneft out our days, 

Meet offerings bring — of prayer our beft, 
And fweeteft fongs of praife. 

Care fills our lives — our cares on Thee 

We caft from day to day : 
Thy Voice founds gently " Come to Me 

Who bare your fins away." 

Weak are our footfteps — Thine the power 

To raife us when we fall ; 
Full oft we ftray in evil hour, 

Do Thou our fouls recall ! 

What if we lofe Thee ? whence our hope ? 

Who elfe can fave or cheer ? 
Dread were our doom unhelped to grope 

In blank defpair and fear. 

Our Reft. 43 

But Thou art ours — True ftrength and ftay ; 

At morn our Bread of Life ; 
Until the clofing of Life's day 

Our Peace 'mid toil and ft rife. 

Be with us, Jefus, at the end, 

When death-fhades round us clofe, 

Light in our gloom in pity fend, 
And grant a fweet repofe. 

E. Louisa Lee. 


IHE was his playmate when a child : and, 
in Life's golden hours, 
He loved her as he loved the ftars, as he 
loved the ftarry flowers ; 
With crown of flowers he dowered her, and all the 

wealth of May, 
And fhe was his dream-angel by night and his fairy- 
queen by day. 

All day (he was his fairy-queen, her realms of fairy 

Were the wild woods beautiful with flowers, and 

the fun-kifTed mountain height, 

The Sifter of Mercy. 45 

And the heather on the upland, and the fhingle by 

the fea, 
And wherever fhe went was fairy -land, and her 

own true knight was he. 

All night fhe was his dream-angel ; no crown of 

flowers was there, 
But a crown of ftarry glory beamed around her 

golden hair, 
And not the funny fmile of day beneath that crofs 

of light, 
But a dreamy ftarry fmile, like the fmile of dewy 


And often when in boyifh glee he prattled faft and 

A ftrange, weird awe would mingle with his love 

for that fair child \ 

46 The Sifter of Mercy. 

And he ceafed his childifh talk, and a fhadow on 

him lay, 
For fhe feemed as though fhe heard him not, and 

her heart was far away. 

He faw her once at eventide : the glorious fun 

went down, 
And kiiTed her golden treffes as with an angel's 

And it lay upon her pale white face, and radiant 

brow upraifed, 
And he faw his own dream-angel, and trembled as 

he gazed. 

He knew his own dream -an gel : thofe eyes of 

heavenly love, 
That dreamy ftarry fmile beneath the kindling ikies 

above ; 

The Sifter of Mercy. 


And it burft upon his heart, like a flafh of awful 

And me was his fairy-queen no more but his dream- 
angel of Night. 


HE knelt before the altar in bridal robes of 
white ; 
The church was beautiful with flowers, and blazed 

with ftarry light ; 
There were flowers above the altar, and flowers 

wreathed in her hair, 
And angels gazed upon her brow, and faw a ftar- 
crown there. 

She knelt before the altar : the organ pealed on 

They fwelled the wedding hymn of joy up to the 

liftening fky, 

48 The Sifter of Mercy. 

And angels' harps caught up the ftrain, and pealed 

it far away, 
For God Himfelf comes down to claim a fair young 

bride to-day. 

He faw his own dream-angel : the glorious funlight 

And kifTed her virgin forehead with a crown of 

gold and flame ; 
And it lay upon her fnowy flowers and on her 

golden hair, 
But he was kneeling far away in forrow and 


Strange ftrength arofe within his foul : he let no 

teardrop ftart, 
He checked each wild rebellious fob that trembled 

at his heart ; 

The Sifter of Mercy. 


And he faid : " O God, I loved her more than all 

the world befide, 
But now Thy Will, Thy Will be done : I covet 

not Thy Bride. 

u I was not worthy of her love, this finful heart of 

Of that pure virgin heart of hers, where every throb 

was Thine ; 
I was not worthy of her love ; and give her up to 

And Thou wilt hear her, if perchance fhe prav one 

prayer for me." 

The laft fweet hymn has died away : the awful rite 

is o'er, 
And fhe is now a Bride of Chrift, His love for 

evermore : 

50 The Sifter of Mercy, 

And he bore his forrow meekly, but his life had loft 
its light, 

And me was his fairy-queen no more, but his dream- 
angel of night. 


jE lay upon the battle-field .... with faint 
and gafping breath, 
Among the dying and the dead, on that grim field 

of death : 
And no fweet hymn went up to God to foothe his 

aching head, 
But the moaning of the dying and the wailing for 
the dead. 

He lay upon the battle-field, and on his fevered 

A thoufand memories of the paft came rufhing back 

again ; 

The Sifter of Mercy. 5 1 

His father and his mother, and the cottage by the 

And the chair where firft he faid his prayers beiide 

his mother's knee : 

And then his mother fmiled on him, and tears were 

in his eye, 
But he knew not why he wept for her, nor what it 

was to die ; 
And the dance of his young life went on with all its 

joy and pain, 
But he never faw his mother's fmile, nor felt her 

kifs again. 

The wild woods and the leaping brooks, and a little 

child at play, 
A little blue-eyed, fair-haired child, with a crown of 

early A/lay ; 


5 2 

The Sifter of Mercy. 

And her crown became a crown of ftars, and her 

ftar-croffed brow grew bright, 
And fhe fmiled a dreamy ftarry fmile, like the fmile 

of dewy night. 

An altar bright with lights and flowers, and a fair 

girl kneeling there, 
And a breaking heart, and a ftifled moan, and a 

faintly-whifpered prayer, 
And the moaning of the dying and the wailing for 

the dead, 
And his own dream-angel's gentle arm around his 

drooping head. 

He ftarted from his reverie, and kneeling by his 

He faw his own dream-angel, and fo in peace he 

died ; 

The Sifter of Mercy, 


While her prayers for him went up to God beneath 

the ftars all night, 
And the Heavenly Bridegroom heard His Bride . . . 

and now he fleeps in light. 



" And when the even was come, he faid unto them, Let 
us pafs over unto the other flde. ,, — St. Mark iv. 35. 

HE day was done : befide the fultry more 
The cooling fhadows luffed the reftlefs 

The words of wondrous wifdom now were o'er 
That make thy waves fo facred, Galilee ! 

The thronging multitude from far and nigh 
In eager hafte around His barque had preffed, 

And, as He fpake, the hours parted ftealthy by, 
And many a weary heart found peace and reft. 

And then, as gently fell the evening dew, 
And the long day, with all its toil, was o'er, 

The Mafter faith unto His chofen few, 
" Let us pafs over to the further fhore." 

The Other Side. 


So, when our day is ended, and we ftand 
At even by the marge of Jordan's tide, 

O may we firmly grafp His pierced Hand, 
And pais triumphant to the " other fide." 

Robert H. Baynes. 


" All glorious hues are in the pure white beam." 


HITE is the colour of angels 
And of innocent virgin fouls ; 
White is the orbed night-queen 
In the purple fky that rolls. 

White is the hue of gladnefs, 

And of hearts that know not grief ; 

White is the hue that Sadnefs 
Aye looks to for relief. 

Down from the liquid heaven 

In myftic order laid, 
The white (tars rain at even 

White joys that ne'er can fade 

White is the Colour of Angels. 57 

For they rain on the folemn fpirit 

Mufing on things above, 
On the realms that we inherit 

White with Eternal Love. 

White in the Eafter feafon 

And at Chriftmas' time of joy, 

Our Mother for loving reafon 
Ordaineth to employ. 

White in the lovely May-tide 
Burfteth from every bum ; 

White in the face of beauty 
Frameth a maiden blufh. 

White is the noon-tide glory 
Blanching the diftant hills ; 

White on the ocean hoary 
The florm-toiTed furges fills. 

58 White is the Colour of Angels. 

White are the fields at even 

When the frem dew on them lies ; 

White is the verge of heaven, 
Ere the fun begins to rife. 

I loved a white-browed maiden 

Arched o'er with gold-brown hair, 

And eyne with brightnefs laden 
As the brightnefs of fummer air. 

O colour of white, I love thee ! 

For ever amid my dreams 
The fhadow of white-winged angels 

To guard me with watching feems. 

George Akers. 


HE World is very foul and dark, 

And fin has marred its outline fair ; 
But we are taught to look above 
And fee another image there ! 
And I will raife my eyes above, 

Above a World of fin and woe, 

Where finlefs, grieflefs, near her Son 

Sits Mary on a Throne of mow. 


Mankind feems very foul and dark 
In fome lights that we fee them in ; 

Lo ! as the tide of life goes by, 
How many thoufands live in fin ! 


Our Lady of the Snows. 

But I will raife my eyes above, 

Above the World's unthinking flow, 

To where, fo human, yet fo fair, 
Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow. 


My heart is very foul and dark, 

Yes, ftrangely foul fometimes to me 
Glare up the images of fin, 

My tempter loves to make me fee. 
Then may I lift my eyes above, 

Above thefe paflions vile and low, 
To where, in pleading contraft bright, 

Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow. 


And oft that Throne, fo near our Lord's, 
To Earth fome of its radiance lends ; 

And Chriftians learn from her to fhun 
The path impure, that hell-ward tends : 

Our Lady of the Snows. 


For they have learnt to look above, 
Above the prizes here below, 

To where, crowned with a ftarry crown, 
Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow. 

Bleft be the whitenefs of her Throne 

That fhines fo purely, grandly there, 
With fuch a patting glory bright, 

Where all is bright, and all is fair ! 
God, make me lift my eyes above, 

And love its holy radiance fo, 
That, fome day, I may come where ftill 

Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow ! 



HE fun fhines bright and glorious, and the 
hill tops are illumed 
With a more than common light the day 
Our Lady was affumed -, 
For her the cloudlefs blaze of noon on the lonely 

tarn is glowing, 
And the many-founding torrents chant her praifes 
in their flowing. 

For her the golden valleys thick with cornfields 

laugh and fing, 
And with voices of innumerous birds the happy 

woodlands ring ; 
The air is tremulous with fong, and a preternatural 

Stirs the deep mufic of the waves in funlefs caves 

of Ocean ; 

"Let the Hills hear Thy Voice" 63 

And the found of many waters with accord of 

folemn mirth, 
Like a worfhip without words, goes up inceflant 

from the earth, 
The Magnificat of mountain-ftreams, and — fweeteft 

after fhowers — 
An odour as of frankincenfe, wafted from myrtle 


And fhall we alone, dear Mother, when all around 

is gay, 
Stand mute amid the tuneful choir that hails thy 

triumph day ? 
Nor heed the fkylark's matin hymn, flooding the 

heavens with praife, 
Faint echo of their angel harps who on thy bright- 

nefs gaze ? 

Shall thy children raife no anthem, all unaudienced 
though it be, 

64 "Let the Hills hear Thy Voice." 

With the living rock for temple, and the far- 

refounding fea, 
Rolling organ notes of jubilee, refponfive to their 

For the Mother of the Holy One, the Merciful, the 

Strong ? 

What if there were who loved to roam those breezy 

fern-clad hills, 
And to dream away the fummer nights befide their 

tinkling rills ; 
Who thought to feek the beautiful in Earth's moft 

beauteous places, 
While the mountain breath was fraught for them 

with more than earthly graces ; 

Who revelled in the warm funfhine on lake and 

flowery lea, 
While Nature through her fweet conftraints was 

drawing them to thee ? — 

" Let the Hills hear Thy Voice" 65 

O fpeed them home, dear Mother-Maid, who linger 

on the way, 
Lighten their eyes who cannot fee, and turn the 

feet that ftray ! 

Guide thou their weary fteps through days of anguifh 

and unreft, 
Through the darknefs that is felt of doubts uncon- 

quered, unconfeft, 
To the land beyond the Eaftern hills, lapt in the 

living ray 
Of the Uncreated Vifion, where the fhadows flee 

away ! 

Henry Nutcombe Oxenham. 


" He that is called, being free, is ChrirVs fervant." 

i Cor. vii. 22. 

|HY Hands have made me ! in foul-faving 
Thy Heart poured forth for me its pre- 
cious Blood, 
And Thy fweet Breath gave me its Life Divine ; 
Therefore, my God and Saviour ! I am Thine ! 


Thine by the mighty Maker's matchlefs art, 
Thine by the Paflion of His broken Heart, 
Marked on my brow with the fin-fearing fign, 
My God ! my Saviour ! foul and body Thine ! 

The Servant of Chriji. 67 


Slave of my paffions, by Thy Love fet free, 
Bound in eternal fervitude to Thee, 
Thy right in me yielded with glad accord, 
The flave of Chrift — the freeman of the Lord. 


O glorious Love ! that takes that outcaft Name, 
Once the fad fign of fuffering and of shame, 
And makes it, when for Chrift man doth it bear, 
Than Royal titles freer and more fair. 


Therefore, to render up to Thee above, 

All the deep tender paflion of my love, 

All the poor fervice that Thou wouldft employ. 

Is not alone my duty, but my joy ! 


The Servant of Chrijl. 


And whatfoe'er I do, Lord ! let it be 

Done from the heart — with fingle eye to Thee : 

My pureft motive, and my beft reward, 

To be Chrift's flave ! — the freeman of the Lord ! 

John S. B. Monsell. 


: Through Life's long day and death's dark night, 
O gentle Jefu, be our Light." 

F. W. Faber. 


HEN tempefts ceafe at clofe of day, 
And evening is ferene, 
How welcome falls the golden ray 
O'er paftoral valleys feen — 
As 'twere a meffage fent to cheer, 
By miflioned angels lingering near. 


For, if a blinding mift of tears 
Awhile obfcured our fight, 

The fadnefs of long-vanifhed years 
Seems like a dream of Night. 

jo Golden Rays. 

When, drawing near to Jordan's tide, 
Glory illumes the other fide. 


The other fide ? What tongue may tell 

That orient blufh of Morn 
Tinging the facred lilies' bell, 

And rofes without thorn. 
Oh that we had thy wings, fair dove, 
To foar and reft in bowers above ! 


The peace which this World cannot give 

And cannot take away 
Is found when faithfully we ftrive 

God's precepts to obey : 
Prepared to breaft the awful flood, 
Supported on the Holy Rood. 

Golden Rays. 

7 1 

O wondrous mercy, thus to deign, 

And offer lading reft, 
From forrow, wearinefs, and pain, 

On gentle Jefu's breaft : 
So may our Alleluias fweet 
Adore the Bleffed Paraclete ! 

C. A. M. W. 



[S childhood wanes our dreams become lefs 
fair — 
Heaven has gone farther off — the 
child is dead : 
When Manhood dawns upon us, it doth fcare 
God's Mother from her watch befide our bed ; 
For I believe that o'er an infant's fleep 
Our Lady doth a gentle vigil keep. 


Thus a child's flumber is a holy thing ; 

It deems its mother's kifs upon its brow 
Is the foft glancing of an Angel's wing. — 
Ah ! I have no fuch graceful fancies now ! 
Therefore I hold, hearing of one who can 
Dream like a little child, — Heaven loves that man. 

John Purchas. 


IN the ancient ftory, 

Once a warrior high 
Saw a Crofs of glory 
Flaming in the fky ; 
While around it reaching, 
Writ by Hand Divine, 
Ran the holy teaching, 
" Conquer by this fign." 

World and flefh and devil 

Seek our deadly lofs, 
We muft fight with evil 

Strengthened by the Crofs ; 
Thus our might renewing 

By the fymbol bleft, 
" Faint but yet purfuing " 

Chrift fhall give us reft. 


In hoc Jigno vince" 

Sign of our falvation 

Printed on the brow, 
Ever frefh relation 

Of a folemn vow, 
May we always love thee 

As our joy and pride, 
Looking ftill above thee 

To the Crucified. 

In the time of forrow 

Peaceful we mail be, 
Since from it we borrow 

LefTons, Lord, of Thee : 
In the days of gladnefs 

We mall do Thy will, 
For Thy Crofs of fadnefs 

Keeps us humble ftill. 

Till the cord is broken 
Of our earthly part, 

"In hoc Jigno vince" 

Let us wear the token 
Near a loving heart : 

When the eye is glazing 
With the final ft rife, 

Still upon it gazing 

Pafs from death to Life. 




SRESS each on each, fweet wings, and roof 
me in 
Some clofed cell to hold my wearinefs — 
Defired, as from unfhadowed plains, to win 
The palmy gloaming of the oafis. 

Soft wings, that floated ere the fun arofe, 
Down pillared lines of ever-fruited trees, 

Where through the many-gladed leafage flows 
The uncreated noon of Paradife. 

Still wings, in contemplation oftentime 

Stretched on the ocean-depth that drowns defire, 

Where lightening tides, in never-falling chime, 
Ring round the Angel ifles in glafs and fire. 

Angelus Domini. 


From meadow lands that fleep beyond the ftars, 
From lilied woods and waves the BlefTed fee, 

Pafs, bird of God, all pafs the golden bars, 
And in thy fair companion pity me. 

O for the garden-city of the Flower, 
Of jewelled Italy the chofen gem, 

Where angels and Giotto dreamed a tower 
In lovelinefs of New Jerufalem. 

For thefe, when roseate as a winged cloud 
Upon the faffron of the paling Eaft, 

A glowing pillar in the Houfe of God, 
That tower arofe, the very lovelieft : 

Then making wings and voices there that fang 
Pafs up and down the chafed jafper wall, 

And through the cryftal traceries outrang, 
As when from height to deep the feraphs call. 


Angelus Domini. 

for the valley-flopes which Arno cleaves 
With arrowy heads of gold unceafingly, 

Parting the twilight of the grey-green leaves, 
As fhafted sun-gleam on a rain- cloud iky. 


For there, more white than mifts of bloom above 
When funfet kindles Luni's vineyard height, 

Strange prefences have paced the olive grove, 
And dazed the cyprefs cloifter into light. 

But not for me the angel-haunted fouth — 
I fpread my hands acrofs the unlovely plain, 

1 faint for beauty in the daily drouth 

Of beauty, as the fields for Auguft rain. 

Yet hope is mine againft fome eaftern dawn, 

Not in a vifion, but reality, 
To fee thy wings, and, in thine arms upborne, 

To reft me in a fairer Italy. 

Digby Mackworth Dolben. 


WAS feftal day in Heaven, 
And many a feraph came 
With many a coftly offering 
To blefs the Eternal Name. 

On never-tiring wings 

Of burning love they flew, 

Cleaving their eager upward way 
Through the cerulean blue. 

Swift as the lightning's ray, 
Which from the fartheft Eaft 

Darts forth a beam of radiant flame 
Unto the fartheft Weft : 

So, fwiftly from each realm 
Of wide Creation's bound, 

The willing vaffals gladly throng 
The dazzling throne around : 


The Child's Offering. 

Each meekly veils his face 

Beneath the fhadowing wing, 

Before the awful Majefly 
Of the Everlafting King : 

Each bearing to his Lord 
Some mark of tribute meet ; 

Some fplendid fervice, to be laid 
Low at his Sovereign's feet. 

One brings a virgin world, 
Whofe habitations fair 

And finlefs, happy denizens 
Entrufted to his care, 

He has preferved from harm — 
Has trained in holy fear ; 

And now again refigns his charge, 
Meet for the Vifion clear. 

The Child's Offering. 


One leads in ponderous chains 

A countlefs hoft of hell 
Whom he has vanquifhed in the fight 

With Lucifer who fell. 

One tells that he has hung 

In diftant fields of space 
A galaxy of rolling funs 

For angels' dwelling-place. 

One wakes to a new ftrain 
The mufic of the fpheres ; — 

Rich harmonies till now unheard 
E'en by celeftial ears. 

Then all in chorus join, 

Raifing a lofty fong ; — 
A theme of praife which never yet 

Has fired archangel's tongue. 


The Child's Offering. 

Yet, 'mid the mining train 

Of bending Cherubin, 
Is one whofe offering prevails 

A fpecial grace to win : 

He brings no fpotlefs world, 

No fpoils of victory ; 
He leads not with his voice or harp 

The minftrelfy on high : 

He bears no royal gift 

Nor coftly facrifice ; 
Of paltry worth it would be held 

If weighed at this World's price : 

Yet 'tis as rich and rare, 
In fight of Heaven's King, 

As all the trophies of fuccefs 
Which flaming feraphs bring 

The Child's Offering. 

'Tis the firft heavenward throb 
Of a young heart's young love ; 

Its frefh, full tide of gratitude 
To Him Who dwells above. 

Grateful as Spring's firft flowers, 
Lovely as earlieft dawn, 

Precious as in a mother's eyes 
Her infant eldeft-born ; 

Pure as the deep blue lake 

Which, 'neath the fummer fky, 

Mirrors the azure and the gold, 
Unruffled by a figh : 

So dear in Jefus' fight, 

So beautiful appears 
The heart which gives itfelf to Him 

In childhood's opening years. 

William Edward Green t . 


IN the myftic realm of flumber, in the quiet 
land of reft, 
Came to me a radiant vifion of the Coun- 
try of the Bleft ; 
Angels, through the filvery moonbeams, gliding 

fwiftly from the fkies, 
Brought to me from Eden's garden that fair Dream 
of Paradife. 

Foremoft in a long proceflion, in her mining raiment 

Came the one who, through all ages, bears a name 

for ever bleft ; 
Queen of Heaven ! Spotlefs Lily ! walking in re- 

fplendent light 

A Dream of Paradife. 85 

Which no mortal eyes can fathom, in the boundlefs 

Infinite ; 
Bleffed Lady ! Mother Glorious ! dare I hope to fee 

thy face 
In the Land where none can enter, fave through the 

redeeming grace 
Of the Crofs which gives us accefs into the Moft 

Holy Place ? 

Thofe who in her fteps had trodden, followed her, in 

robes of white ; 
Palms within their hands were waving, they were 

crowned with gems of light. 

They were there, the martyr-maidens, who had con- 
quered in the ftrife ; 

They were there, the meek and patient, who had 
borne the Crofs through life ; 

Ranfomed from Earth's tribulation — fafe for ever in 
the Fold ; 


A Dream of Paradife. 

Pafling 'neath the pearly gateway, — walking in the 

ftreets of gold ; 
And I heard their thrilling anthem floating o'er the 

cryftal fea — 
" Unto Him Who hath redeemed us, Glory, Praife, 

and Honour be ! " 

But the dazzling vifion faded — it was far too bright 

to ftay > 
In the rofy tints of dawning vanifhed the celeftial ray. 
Earthly chains are ftill around us, mortal prayers we 

ftill muft pray, 
Pilgrims in the land of exile — waiting till the perfect 

Breaks upon the diftant mountains, and the fhadows 

flee away. 

Helen Montagu Stuart. 


HEN by Thine altar, Lord, I kneel, 
And think upon Thy love, 
O make my heart Thy goodnefs feel, 
Fix it on things above : 
My deareft Lord, when I retrace 

Thy wondrous love for me ; 
Oh, how can I affedtion place 
On anything but Thee ? 

About to leave this wretched Earth, 
On man Thy thoughts ftill bent, 
Thy facred boundlefs love gave birth 
To this fweet Sacrament : 

My deareft Lord, when I retrace 

Thy wondrous love for me ; 
Oh, how can I affection place 
On anything but Thee ? 

88 The Bread of Life. 

O Manna, which my fovereign Lord 

In pity left for me, 
Without this majefty adored 
What would this exile be ? 

My deareft Lord, when I retrace 

Thy wondrous love for me; 
Oh, how can I affection place 
On anything but Thee ? 

A defert land of woe and care, 

A pilgrimage of ftrife, 
Who could its griefs and trials bea 
Without this Bread of Life ? 

My deareft Lord, when I retrace 

Thy wondrous love for me ; 
Oh, how can I affection place 
On anything but Thee ? 

My foul here finds a fovereign balm — 
A cure for every grief, 

The Bread of Life. 

Mid care and pain a heavenly calm, 
A folace and relief. 

My deareft Lord, when I retrace 

Thy wondrous love for me ; 
Oh, how can I affection place 
On anything but Thee ? 

Supported by this Heavenly Bread, 
My Lord's laft pledge of Love, 
With joy the rugged path I'll tread 
To Horeb's mount above. 

My deareft Lord, when I retrace 

Thy wondrous love for me ; 
Oh, how can I affection place 
On anything but Thee ? 

Strengthened by this, my foul its flight 

Shall from this exile foar, 
To dwell in realms of blifs and light 


ever — evermore. 

9 o 

The Bread of Life. 

My deareft Lord, when I retrace 
Thy wondrous love for me ; 

Oh, how can I affe&ion place 
On anything but Thee ? 



TEMPLE, 1 backed with tree and bafed 

with turf, 
Crefting the bright blue reach : — an 
ancient Lock, 2 
On whofe worn gates the tiny wavelets knock 
For entrance, and play round with mimick furf : 

A Cell, once of religion — then of rakes, 3 
And now of pleafure-feaftings underneath 

1 The Temple or fummer-houfe on Fawley Ifland below 

2 Hambledon Lock. 

3 Medmenham Abbey — and its li Francifcans." 


River Thoughts. 

Old Trees, through which the river-breezes breathe, 
And found of voice and flute fweet mufic makes 

From fhallop, hafting homeward at grey eve : 
White cliffs : * broad fall of waters at the Ford, 2 
Dove-cote, and Terrace-walk of foft green fward, 3 
Then an old Abbey, 4 where a Boy 5 would weave 
Fancies 6 — afloat and drifting to and fro — 
Wild fancies — that fhall live while Thames' ftill 
waters flow. 

Such is the fong that Memory fings 
To me of homes and hours gone by; 

A tale of ne'er-forgotten things ; 
A record that will never die : 

1 Danesfield Cliffs. 

* Harley-ford, its falls and foot-bridge. 

3 Hurley : Dove-cote and waterfide walk, Lady-place. 

4 Bifham. 5 Shelley. 

6 " The Revolt of Iflam," under its part: name, " Laon 
and Cythna." 

River Thoughts. 


Stirred by thofe feven fweet myftic firings 
Up, from the inmoft heart, it fprings — 
The thought — that all Life's bygone brings 

Back to the eye ; 
Old hearts, old haunts, old talks, old times, 
Old Halls, old Towers, and old Church-chimes, 

Life's melody. 

William John Blew. 


EASTWARD fpeed in gentle thought, 

And climb the deep Portfdown, 
Then the meek rivulet be fought 
That winds beyond its crown : 
As weftwards tends the funlight, round 

On church and hamlet look, 
And mufe how meetly this fair ground 
Is named from this Pure Brook. 

This Brook is like the chriftened fouls 

Who in fair Purbrook dwell ; 
The river-wave, the life-wave, rolls 

Each from a fecret well ; 
But men may mark the ftreamlet's birth 

Where wild birds build and fing ; 
Who may trace back the Church on earth ? 

Who fhall declare its fpring ? 

Pur brook, HampJJiire. 


Wilt trace it to the font's fair gleam, 

Pure water purified, 
Pure water from an earthly ftream 

Loft in a purer tide ? 
There with the Everlafting Years 

Is linked the life late given ; 
There is no eye of fun-lit fpheres 

Gifted to pierce the Heaven. 

Glaffing the Sun upon its breaft, 

Gladdening the neighbour foil, 
The ftream, fcarce noticed, flows to reft, • 

'Twixt the green banks of toil. 
This is each faithful blood-bought foul, 

They who ftill heav'nward look 
To feek their being's Fount and Goal, 

To lift their own Pure Brook. 



^35^iH union wonderful and true ! 
• IliPi € Oh, Love ! oh, blifs beyond compare ! 
Jft^B^g What can the heart enraptured do 
When God Himfelf is there ? 

After communion what is earth ? 

Life feems indeed but vanity: 
Its brightest hours are never worth 

One moment fpent with Thee. 

This moment does the work of years, 
The foul hath drunk a joy fo deep 

That fhe may bid farewell to tears, 
Such as Earth's children weep. 

Jefus ! be Thou my hidden reft, 
Reign over me fupreme, alone ; 

The deareft wifh within my breaft 
Is to be all Thine Own ! 

Hymn after Holy Communion. 97 

And now, if to my daily ftrife 
I muft return, and bear my part ; 

Do Thou, my Lord, my Light, my Life, 
Keep to Thyfelf my heart ! 

Hold it, that it may never ftray, 

Loft in a World of fin and care, 
Fix it in the unerring way 

Of difcipline and prayer. 

Give me Thy blefling, Lord, again ; 

And I will fight beneath Thine Eye, 
And win, perchance, through days of pain, 

A glorious victory. 



IjjAIL ! my guardian fpirit, hail ! 
Angel ever bleffed, 
Who of light within the veil 
Throughly art poffeffed ; 
Thou of God Almighty haft 

Beatific vifion, 
Sweet for ever to the tafte, 
Unalloyed fruition. 

When the fpirits proud were caft 

Into death undying, 
Thee did God eftablifh faft, 

Heavenly grace fupplying : 

Salve mi Angelice. 


In His paths preferved thee, 
Spirit true and tender, 

And commiflioned thee to be 
My weak foul's defender. 

Therefore I with bended knee 

Bow myfelf before thee, 
And upraifing fuppliantly 

Heart and hands, implore thee, 
That, with ever- watchful art, 

Thou to-day wouldft aid me, 
Left the adverfary's dart 

Subtly mould invade me. 

May my body from diftrefs 
Be by thee protected, 

Be all thoughts of wickednels 
From my mind rejected : 


Salve mi Angelice. 

Everywhere and always fpeed 
From the foe to hide me, 

And in thought and word and deed 
Be at hand to guide me. 

Cleanfe all paft and prefent faults 

From my mind's intention, 
And, when evil next affaults, 

Grant thy intervention. 
O confole and care for me, 

Cherifh me in trouble, 
Purge, enlighten perfectly, 

And my zeal redouble. 

Pray that I remiflion find 
Of the Judge's fentence, 

So to fhare my joy of mind 
On my true repentance ; 

Salve mi Angelice, 


Living as fhall pleafe Him beft 

Unto my life's clofing, 
All my longings aye at reft, 

All on Him repofing. 

In the hour of death, beftow 

Thy true confolation ; 
Shield me from the watchful foe, 

Bid me take my ftation, 
Where the hofts of heaven among 

In God's courts attending, 
I may join the praifes fung 

To His Name unending. Amen. 

H. W. Mozley. 


HITE were the ftairs of marble ftone, 
But whiter were His Feet, 
Flecked with the Blood that muft atone 
For the apple fickly-fweet ; 
As He came down, 
Each mocking clown 
Arofe the King to greet. 

It was not yet the time of figs, 
But trees were budding fair, 
They ftripped the lithe long willow-twigs, — 
All things the crime muft fhare ! — 
With rod and fcourge 
Their guilt to purge 
Whofe fins the Sinlefs bare. 

A Legend of the Weeping Willow. 103 

And red ftains mar the marble ftone, 

And on the long green leaves 

Are blood-drops, as the willow lone 

Still hangs its head and grieves 

By pool and flood, 

Where the pale blue bud 

The wreath of Memory weaves. 



" The Souls of the righteous are in the Hands of God." 

ORD of the living and the dead, 
Thy children leek Thine aid 
For Souls who, in Thy Juftice dread, 
Suffer for debts unpaid. 

Shut out from Thee their one fole Love, 

They alway languifh fore 
For cooling ftreams of blifs above, 

And Heaven's wide-opened door. 

In twilight gloom they patient wait, 

Crofs-bearers of their Lord ; 
Stricken, until the prifon-gate 

Be opened at Thy word. 

The Holy Souls. 105 

Not yet fo cleanfed and purified 

That they may fee Thy Face : 
Not yet made meet, by fuffering tried, 

For Thine all-pure embrace. 

Yet Thou doft love them, and Thy love 

Is blifs amid their woe, 
And for Thy fake the joys above 

They readily forego. 

O then make hafte, good Chrift ! and hear 

Our De -profundi s cry ; 
Releafe the Souls, to Thee fo dear, 

Who patient waiting lie. 

Refrefh them parched, with gracious rains- 
They long and thirft for Thee ; — 

Unloofe their bonds, remit their pains, 
And fet Thy captives free. 


The Holy Souls. 

Low at Thine altars here we bow, 

With tears Thy Paflion plead, 
The fpotlefs Vi&im lifted now 

We offer for their need. 

Soon give them welcome up above 

In Home of blifsful reft, 
Fruition of Eternal Love, 

And fight of Vifion bleft. 

E. Louisa Lee. 


MAKE not fongs, but only find : — 
Love, following ftill the circling fun, 

His carols caft on every wind, 
And other finger is there none ! 

I follow Love, though far he flies : 
I fing his fong, at random found, 

Like plume fome bird of Paradife 
Drops, pafling, on our dufky bound. 

In fome, methinks, at times there glows 
The paffion of a heavenlier fphere : 

Thefe, too, I fing: — but fweeter thofe 
I dare not fing, and faintly hear. 

Aubrey de Vere. 

1 The Greeks called the poet " the Maker." In the middle 
ages, fome of the beft poets took a more modeft title — that of 
" the Finder." 


(Pfalm cxlviij.) 

RAISE, O praife the Lord of Heaven, 
Praife Him, praife Him in the height ; 
Sun and moon, for ever praife Him, 
Praife Him, all ye ftars and light. 

Praife Him, praife Him, all His angels, 
Praife Him, praife Him, all His hoft 

Praife the God of our Salvation, 
Father, Son, and Holy Ghoft ! 

Praife Him, praife Him, all ye Heavens, 

And ye waters, that above, 
From your everlafting fountains, 

Rife in light and fall in love. 

Hymn of Praife. 


Praife Him, all ye deeps and dragons 
Upon earth, praife ye the Lord ; 

Fire and hail and mow and vapour, 
Wind and ftorm, fulfil His Word. 

Praife Him, all ye hills and mountains, 
Cedars fair and fruitful trees, 

Beafts and cattle, birds and infects, 
Morning's light and evening's breeze. 

Let them praife His Name Moft Holy, 
For He fpake and they were made, 

Laws which never mall be broken, 
Deep in their foundations laid. 

Kings below and all the people, 
Princes, judges of the earth, 

Young and old men, maidens, children, 
Praife His Name of matchlefs worth. 


Hymn of Praife. 

For that Name, all names excelling, 
From His people's hearts mail raife 

To His own eternal dwelling 
Endlefs fongs of love and praife. 

Praife, O praife the Lord of Heaven, 
Praife Him, praife Him in the height ; 

Sun and moon, for ever praife Him, 
Praife Him, all ye ftars and light ! 

Praife Him, praife Him, all His angels, 
Praife Him, praife Him, all His hoft : 

Praife the God of our falvation, 
Father, Son, and Holy Ghoft. 

John S. B. Moxsell. 


; The fhip was now in the midft of the fea, toffed 
with waves."' 1 

SAW " the waves of this troublefome 
world," raging and dark and cold, — 
Oh, who will guide in the ftormy tide to 
reft in the city of gold ? 
The Lord has been to our realms of fin, and bought 

us in Heaven a fhare, 
But He is gone back on the angel's track, and how 

fhall we reach Him there ? 
Then a glance I caft through the long, long part ; 

(its vifta was nearly dark,) 
And, through the haze of vanifhed days, difcerned a 

noble barque 
Which the " Carpenter's Son," that fearlefs One, 

had built with His own right hand, 
And in her thofe dear to His Heart while here, 
embarked for their Fatherland. 

112 The Ship in the Storm. 

The Workman is gone, yet crowds prefs on to that 

fruit of His toil unpriced ; 
All bear the fign of Love Divine, the holy Crofs of 

The fame fweet Light through ftorm and night is 

guiding all to reft, 
And, hand-in-hand, to toil for land, they mould be 

furely bleft. 
But fome cannot view the lantern true, and to them 

all days are dark ; 
Some proudly rear, and think as clear, their candle's 

little fpark. 
Some try to wile the brief fummer's fmile for ever 

there to roam, — 
Alas ! to fuch is the voyage much, and little worth 

their home. 
Some look for light with aching fight, and tremble 

day by day, 
Left, though they ftrive to fafe arrive, they mould 

be caft away. 

The Ship in the Storm. 1 1 3 

Some leave the reft, and boldly breaft alone the open 

And many die from far and nigh, and find an ocean 

grave ; 
Like drops of rain on the ftormy main, their place is 

known no more, — 
O death and life ! O toil and ftrife ! when will 

this fcene be o'er ? 



LORD, we know that all who love Thy 
Are one in Thee ; Thy Spirit's quick- 
ening fire 
Has wrapt their torpid nature into flame, 

And given them onenefs of intenfe defire 
To mount towards Thee higher ftill and higher. 
Yet are they widely fevered to their fhame 

In outward worfhip : difcord in the choir 
Brings on their glorious Faith the fceptic's blame. 
O turn we, therefore, fchifm-torn to Thee, 

And afk that Thou wouldft make us whole again, 
Not only in the Spirit's unity, 

But in a vifible communion ; — then 
The Holy Catholic Church indeed will be 
Thy home, Thy tabernacle among men. 

John Charles Earle. 

Vifitation of B. V. Mary, 1878. 


HE vefper bell is pealing foft, 
And I know that, far away, 
The vefper hymn goes up aloft, 
To lull the dying day -> 
And a gentle Child on bended knee 
Is pouring forth a prayer for me. 

Pray, gentle fpirit, far away, 
By that fweet fouthern fea; 

I have need enough that day by day 
Some prayer mould rife for me, 

Some incenfe to the eternal fhrine, 

From heart and lips as pure as thine. 

I fcarce could pray an hour ago, 
A weight was on my heart, 


Super Flumina. 

But now it melts like morning fnow, 

And I can weep apart, 
For thou art praying for me now, 
And God will liften to thy vow. 

Pray, gentle fpirit ; prayer of mine 
Is llained and flecked with earth, 

But every fnow-white prayer of thine 
Is rich with Angel's worth ; 

And mingling in the ftarry zone, 

Thofe prayers fhall purify mine own. 

Sweet is the Ave-Mary bell, 

In Mary's land of love, 
And fweet the vefper hymns that fwell 

To Her dear Throne above ; 
And fweet to me far, far away, 
The hour when Mary's children pray. 

Adieu, fweet Child, adieu to-night ! 
Chrift keep thee fafe from ill ! 

Super Flumina. 


Thy dreams be fweet, thy deep be light, 

Good Angels guard thee ftill : 
And God the Father from above 
Smile on thee with a Father's love. 



OULD fhe, that Deftined one, could fhe 
On whom His gaze was fixed for aye, 
Tranfgrefs like Eve, partake that Tree, 
In turn the Serpent's dupe and prey ? 

Had He no Pythian fhaft that hour, 
Her Son — her God — to pierce the Foe 

That ftrove her greatnefs to devour, 
Eclipfe her glories ? Deem not fo ! 

O Mary ! in that Firft Decree 

He faw the aflailer, fent the aid : — 

Filial it was, His love for thee 

Ere thou wert born ; ere worlds were made. 



One Innocence on earth remained 

By Grace divine, not Nature's worth, 

And welcomed — through His Blood, unftained — 
Redeeming Sanctity to earth. 

Aubrey de Vere. 


NOTHER fleeting day is gone, — 

Slow o'er the Weft the fhadows rife ; 
Swiftly foft ftealing hours have flown, 
And Night's dark mantle veils the fkies. 

Another fleeting day is gone, — 

Swept from the records of the year, 

And ftill with each fucceflive fun 
Life's fading vifions difappear. 

Another fleeting day is gone, — 

When all who in God's care confide 

As their appointed work is done, 
Reft in His love at eventide. 

Another fleeting day is gone, — 
But foon a fairer day fhall rife, 

Another fleeting Day is gone, i 2 1 

A day whofe never-fetting fun 

Shall pour its light o'er cloudlefs fkies. 

Another fleeting day is gone, — 
All praife to God, as is mod meet, 

To God the Father, God the Son, 

And God th' all-holy Paraclete. Amen. 



HY fhould we vex our foolifh minds 

So much from day to day, 
With what concerning us an idle World 
May think or fay ? 

Do we not know there fits a Judge, 
Before Whofe fearching eyes 

Our inmoft hidden being cleft in twain 
And open lies ? 

O my Omnifcient Lord and God ! 

Enough, enough for me, 
That Thou the evil in me and the good 

Doft wholly fee. 

Let others in their fancies deem of me, 
Or fay, whate'er they will, 

Such as I am before Thy judgment-throne 
So am I ftill. 

In God's Sight. 


Praife they my good beyond defert, 
And all my bad ignore •> — 

That am I which in Thy pure fight I am, 
No lefs, no more ! 

Decry they all my good, and blame 

My evil in excefs ; — 
That am I which in Thy pure fight I am, 

No more, no lefs ! 

Edward Caswall. 


No. I. 

OW long, O Saviour, wilt Thou ftay ? — 
How long Thy fure return delay ? 
While ftill Thy waiting Church doth pray 
"Thy kingdom come." 

Didft not Thou teach the prayer, O Lord ? 
Haft Thou not paffed the faithful word ? 
Oh ! gird Thee with Thy conquering fword 
" Thy kingdom come." 

Are not the realms of Earth Thine own ? 
Come, then, and ftablifh here Thy throne : 
In all the World reign Thou alone : 
" Thy kingdom come." 

"Thy Kingdom come." 125 

Jefu ! defcend again from high ; 
And while Thine armies fill the fky 
Let Earth refound, and Heaven reply : 
" Thy kingdom come." 

Why lingereth Thy chariot ftill ? 
When wilt Thou all the nations fill 
With the glad praife of Sion's hill ? 
" Thy kingdom come." 

Till then, oh ! keep us in the way 
Which leadeth to Eternal Day ; 
And grant us grace in faith to fay : 
"Thy kingdom come." 

William Edward Greex. 


No. II. 

AY not that hours are lonelier now and 
*Fhan days were dark of yore, 
Say not that wild winds moan old days' departure, 
For funfhine lights the floor : 

Yes, golden funfhine creeps through pane and portal 

Up the dim wall, 
Whence pictured faces look with fmiling feature, 

And voices feem to call : 

Sunfhine of Earth, bright type of heavenly glory, 

Where come nor lofs nor fears, — 
Sunfhine of Earth, flecked ever with dark fhadows, 

In this fad vale of tears. 

" Thy Kingdom come." 1 27 

Round us fuch fhades have deepened, paled the 

Now Summer joys have fled, 
Yet even in Winter come familiar greetings 

And memories of the dead. 

Until we pafs, in Spring, Life's June, or Winter, 

From this ftrange varying fcene, 
Bind us to thofe we loved, by living prayer-bonds, 

Lord, keep their memories green : 

Grey hairs and deep-veined fingers, cold and death- 

With De profundis fung, 
Faces fo white and calm, the ftruggle over, 

When chimes of hope were rung : 

While round the death-biers little children fearful 
Gathered with fmile and tear, 

128 " Thy Kingdom come." 

And little palms were joined in interceffion 
For thofe fo loved and dear. 

Paft all the woes and fufferings, o'er the ftruggle, 

No more the trumpet-call : 
Paft all the toil and all the ftrong temptation, 

No weaknefs now, no fall. 

As pants the hart for cool refrefhing brooklets, 

When heated in the chafe, 
So long the fouls, O Lord, of our departed 

To look upon Thy Face. 

Patient and waiting for glad ftreaks of funlight 

To fcare dark mifts away, 
Patient and waiting through the long night-watches 

For God's all-peaceful day. 

There bonds long-fevered, with fad feparations, 
By His divine decree, 

" Thy Kingdom come" I 29 

Shall be new-linked in that true home celeftial 
Before the cryftal fea. 

So when bright fpring-flowers gild the glad green 

And birds rejoicing fing, 
Pray for the Refurrection-morning's beauty — 

Look for the Church's King. 

Or here, when Autumn's reddening touch fo 

Leaf, floweret-bloom, and lea, 
Afk we to tread the good God's garden homewards, 

And eat of Life's rich Tree. 

We ftill mifs friends, and grieve o'er their departure, 

Hands cold and voices dumb, — 
Join us anew where feparations are not, 

O Lord, Thy Kingdom come ! 

130 " Thy Kingdom come" 

So, as at fleeping-place, poor pilgrim-ftrangers, 
Thine Own loved Prayer we pray, 

We look back from the empty tomb of Eafter, 
On to the breaking Day. 

Frederick George Lee. 


MADE myfelf a myrtle crown ; 
I crowned myfelf with leaves and 
flowers ; 
All day I lay in rofy bowers, 
All day till the fweet fun went down. 

The myrtle withered on my head, 
My crown became a crown of pain, 
I could not pluck it off again, 

With thofe dead leaves my heart feemed dead. 

All night, all night, without relief, 

I wandered, while the ftars were bright, 
I wandered all that weary night, 

And all my foul was fick with grief. 

3 2 

The Two Crowns. 

But when then morning broke once more, 
And all the hills were rofy fair, 
I found a ruined chapel there, 

I parted the little chancel door : 

The Holy Altar glittered cold, 
Altar and Crofs were broken all, 
The mofs was thick upon the wall, 

The day-fpring tinged its tufts with gold. 

I knelt before the broken fhrine, 

I could not fpeak for fobs and tears, 
I could not pray for wildering fears, 

The ruin of that fane was mine. 

Long, long I knelt in my defpair, 

But when the fun in heaven was high, 
A glory feemed to hover by, 

I felt a Healing Prefence there. 

The Two Crowns. 

J 33 

So, when my grief was calmer grown, 
I faid, " My heart was dark within ; 

God, I finned a deadly fin, 

I finned, to wear the myrtle crown." 

I faw a Form of Beauty there, 

A Form of Beauty heavenly bright, 
A glorious Form of awful light, 

A Form of Beauty faireft-fair. 

I wept, and clafped His facred Feet, 

1 wept and kifTed them, as I lay : 
He took my crown of pain away : 

I wept, and all my tears were fweet. 

Another crown I wear ev'n now, 

A fweeter crown than in thofe bowers, 
And part are Amaranthine flowers, 

And part are thorns from His dear Brow. 



3HISPER the angel voices foft and kind, 
More gentle than the fummer even's wind 
That murmurs playful o'er the deep, — 
" Sleep, child of earth," they fay, " now take thy reft; 
The twilight darkens in the glowing weft, 
Spirits around thee watch mall keep." 

Come floating on the breath of balmy air, 

Sweet dreams of heaven, and of our loved ones there, 

For ever in their Father's keep. 
And whilft ftill Night ftole on with filent tread, 
Around me hovering, holy Angels faid, 

" He giveth His beloved fleep." 

And comes anon, from yonder wooded hill, 
The diftant murmur of fome hidden rill 


J 35 

That ripples down its ftony bed. 
And yet again I hear the angels' fong, 
By evening's dying breezes borne along, 

" Sleep, fleep, ftill darknefs reigns o'erhead. 

" Reft, reft," I ftill hear wafted on the breeze, 
That, fighing fadly through the fhadowy trees, 

Makes mufic always low and deep — 
And comes once more the oft-repeated ftrain, 
Re-echoed gently from yon darkening main, 

" He giveth His beloved fleep." 

Hedley Vicars. 


E give Thee thanks, O Lord our God, 
For all the Saints Thy path who trod — 
The path of pain, the path of death, 
The path of Him Who triumpheth. 

For they have braved the hour of fhame, 
The crofs, the rack, the cord, the flame, 
The dagger and the cup of woe, 
If only Jefus they might know. 

All this they counted not for lofs, 
For they were foldiers of the Crofs : 
They recked not of the grief or pain, 
If only Jefus they might gain. 

He is their Saviour, He their Lord, 
He their exceeding great reward ; 

Hymn for All Saints' Day. 1 37 

Though loft be all that, fills our cares, 
If Him they have, then all is theirs. 

From us their forms have patted away — 
Mere viewlefs fpirits, mouldering clay — 
Some live upon the life of fame, 
Some leave no veftige but a name. 

But when fhall found the trump of doom, 
To call the tenants of the tomb, 
A mighty army they fhall ftand, 
Arrayed in white at God's Right Hand. 

A mighty hoft, to man unknown, 
In glory ranged around the Throne ; 
He knows His own Who ruled the ftrife — 
Their names are in the Book of Life. 

Gerard Moultrie. 


" CompafTed about with fo great a cloud of witnefTes. 11 — St. 

" I believe in the Communion of Saints.' 1 — Apoftles* Creed, 

[ONE for them the time of forrow, pafTed 
for ever toil and pain, 
Weeping eyes and weary fpirits, {tumbling 
feet, or moil or ftain \ 
No more death nor fin can touch them, they are 

fafely folded now, 
Great the guerdon of their patience, bright the crowns 
upon their brow. 

Once, like us, they knew of weaknefs, of temptation's 

power, and fhame, 
But their God was near to help them, for they 

trufted in His Name ; 
So vi£iorioufly they triumphed, though, like us, in 

war they ftrove, 


The Great Cloud of Witnejfes. 139 

Now they gaze upon His beauty, Who, like them, 
we ftrive to love. 

But, though rapt in ceafelefs worfhip, round the 

Lamb's high throne in light, 
Though impaffible exultant, bathed in fathomlefs 

delight ; 
Still from out the golden bulwarks, where the angels 

throng around, 
Mark they well our faltering footfteps as we march 

through hoftile ground. 

Mindful are they of our victories when from fin we 

turn away, 
When, our burdens laid afide, we walk as children of 

the day : 
Yes, they yearn with love for finners, long to greet 

thofe exiles dear, 
And to fhare with them the laurels when the fight 

is ended here. 

1 40 "The Great Cloud of Witnejfes. 

Afk we then their prayers to aid us — know they not 

the gifts we need ? 
Who on earth being ftrong to battle, ftill are ftrong 

to intercede : 
Filled while here with love's compafiion, pity now 

for each they know ; 
Seek we then their willing fuccour, help to triumph 

o'er the foe. 

He will hear them, Who has promifed, " What ye afk 

ye mail receive ;" 
And His grace mail flow upon us who in His fure 

word believe ; 
Bound and bonded in communion with each other 

and the Trine, 
Where the light is ever luftrous, and the peace is all 


The Author efs 0/*"The Departed 




HE grafs is rank, the fhades are deep, 
Where the unknown their flumber keep, 
The early funlight, faffron-new, 
Scarce fmites the grafs or gilds the dew ; — 
Unprayed for, tended not, they wait, 
Thofe Holy Souls, outfide God's Gate. 

Beyond the Church's northern wall 

Only day's noon-tide glories fall, 

Here — dawn and morn, foft eve, dark night 

Above — no change, unfading light ; 

Yet round glide angel-guardians nigh 

To hear a plaint and heed a figh. 

No croffes mark thofe northern graves, 
No flowers adorn, no yew-tree waves ; 


Unknown Graves. 

Unknown, uncared for, there they lie, 
Under the chill of wintry fky, 
Or, under light of July's fun, 
Lorn and forgotten every one. 

Pafs no lone namelefs fleeper's bed, 
For once on fuch Heaven's dew was fhed : 
By fudden death, by wafting pain, 
God called them to Himfelf again : 
Pray then for Souls who longing wait 
To enter Sion's golden gate. 

The grafs is rank, deep fhadows lie 
Under charged cloud or golden fky ; 
Not by the Church's fouthern plot 
Where rofe blooms with forget-me-not, 
But for all Souls whofe bodies reft 
Under the northern churchyard's breaft. 

When chimes for mafs ring out at morn 
O'er fnow-clothed vales or ripening corn, 



Unknown Graves. 


Gather within the open door 

God's dews of mercy to implore 

For Souls unknown, in Chrift new-born, 

Waiting, unprayed for, lone and lorn. 

Frederick George Lee. 

Littlemore, September, 1874. 


HEN man abode in Paradife, 
There was in gardens once 
A perfe£t. reft defying price ; 
But man, fo eager to be wife, 
Hath proved himfelf a dunce, 
That toileth ftill and ftraineth : 
And yet a reft remaineth. 

The ferpent dwelt in Paradife, 

A good beaft and a kindly, 
But Satan coming, tempter-wife, 
Filled all the poor beaft's mouth with lies, 
And Eve fhe liftened blindly ; 
And living-kind complaineth : 
And yet a reft remaineth. 

Manet Sabbat if /mis. 


By wells of water, where the trees 

Bow down to kifs the flowers 
That, anchored, rock in morning breeze, 
And fpread their filver chalices 
To catch the morning mowers, 
No final reft man gaineth : 
And yet a reft remaineth. 

In tender voice, in fong of bird, 
In pfaltery's foft rhyming, — 
So fweet becaufe more felt than heard, — 
In found of kiiTes, timing 
The hours that afk no chiming, 
There is no reft : earth waneth : 
Only the reft remaineth : 

Remaineth in a g-ard en- ground 

Where groweth Rofe and Lily, 
Remaineth where the waters found, 


Manet Sabbatifmus. 

Where never winds blow chilly, 

Nor harfh voice echoes fhrilly, 
Where the Rofe-lily reigneth, 
There the true reft remaineth ! 

A little while, a little heat, 

A little lonelinefs,— 
And endlefs time that grows more fweet, 
And warmth with no diftrefs, 
And fellowfhip to blefs 

His reft who reft obtaineth : 
The final reft remaineth. 



|OME, bleft Redeemer of the Earth, 
Shew to the World a Virgin-Birth, 
Let all the wondering ages know 
Which birth befeems our God below. 

Not of the feed of mortal race, 
By myftic Breath of heavenly grace, 
The Word of God, in flefh arrayed, 
True offspring blooms of Mother-maid. 

The Virgin bears the Burthen pure, 
And Ever-virgin doth endure ; 
Like pennon bright her graces fhine, 
And God is in His hallowed fhrine. 

The Bridegroom from His chamber fprings, 
Meet palace of the King of kings, 
True God, true Man, in Perfon One, 
Like Plant Mad His courfe to run. 

i 4 8 

Compline Hymn. 

From Sire in Heaven He goeth forth, 
To live in Heaven returns from Earth, 
Defcending e'en to Hell's abode, 
Afcending to the Throne of God. 

Eternal Sire's co-equal Son, 
Thy flefhly girdle gird Thee on, 
The frailty of our mortal plight 
To ftrengthen with immortal might. 

Full brightly (bines Thy manger-bed, 
And Night herfelf new light doth fhed, 
A Light on which no night mall clofe, 
Aye bright to Faith as when it rofe. 

To God the Father in the height, 
And to the Son, True Light of Light, 
And Holy Ghoft all glory be, 
Now and through all eternity. Arnen. 



iHE blafts of chill December found 
The farewell of the Year, 
And Night's fwift fhadows gathering 
O'ercloud the foul with fear ; 
But reft you well, good Chriftian men, 

Nor be of heart forlorn : 
December's darknefs brings again 
The light of Chriftmas morn. 

The welcome fnow at Chriftmas-tyde 
Falls mining from the fkies : 

On village paths and uplands wide 
All holy-white it lies ; 

150 Light in the Darknefs. 

It crowns with pearl the oaks and pines, 
And glitters on the thorn ; 

But purer is the Light that mines 
On gladfome Chriftmas morn. 

At Chriftmas-tyde the gracious moon 

Keeps vigil while we fleep, 
And fheds abroad her light's fweet boon 

On vale and mountain-fteep : 
O'er all the Numbering land defcends 

Her radiancy unfhorn ; 
But brighter is the Light, good friends, 

That mines on Chriftmas morn. 

'Twas when the World was waxing old, 
And Night on Bethlehem lay, 

The Shepherds faw the heavens unfold 
A light beyond the day ; 


Light in the Darknefs. 


Such glory ne'er had vifited 

A World with fin outworn ; 

But yet more glorious light is fhed, 
On happy Chriftmas morn. 

Thofe fhepherds poor, how bleft were they 

The angels' fong to hear ! 
In manger cradle as He lay, 

To greet their Lord fo dear ! 
The Lord of Heaven's Eternal height 

For us a Child was born \ 
And He, the very Light of Light, 

Shone forth that Chriftmas morn ! 

Before His infant fmile afar, 

Were driven the hofts of hell ; 

And ftill in fouls that childlike are 
His guardian love fhall dwell : 

152 Light in the Darknefs. 

O then rejoice, good Chriftian men, 

Nor be of heart forlorn ; 
December's darknefs brings again 

The Light of Chriflmas morn. 

Norval Clyne. 


IAROL while yet thy life is in its fpring, 
For fpring-tide is the time for carolling : 
Sing while the dews are frefh, the day is 
young ; 
Sweet fongs found fweeteft in the morning fung, 
Ere yet the fummer-noon, the winter-night 
Harden the heart-fprings, and the fong-flowers 

blight ; 
And airs of youth and Carols " light as air " 
Seem but the echoes of the things that were. 
Up ! the fons of God are finging 

To the children of the plain ; 
Up ! the bells of Earth are ringing 

Back to Heaven their glad refrain : 
Up ! the day-ftar forth is flinging 
Lines of golden light, and ftringing 

154 With a Book of Carols. 

Beads of dew thereon, to deck 
With Love's necklace Morning's neck : 
Up ! then, and on Mufic's ftring 
Thread the pearls of fong, and fing — 
In a lone bower far away 
There is born a Babe to-day ! 

William John Blew. 


; There remaineth, therefore, a reft for the people of God." 

TOILERS in Life's vineyard, 

Who figh for perfect Reft, 
Whofe dim eyes, peering upward, 
With weight of years opprefTed, 
Look for the blifsful flumber 
God gives to His beloved ; 
Wait till the day is over, 

And He the tafk has moved. 

Here, where the long long morning 

Melts into bufy noon, 
The hours are all unreftful, 

But Evening cometh foon : 

156 Reft. 

Lo on the lofty mountain 
The firft faint fhadow lies, 

And God will draw His curtains 
Over the far-off fkies. 

Short flumbers has the pilgrim, 

His ready ftaff in hand, 
The foldier may but linger 

Till the foe is in the land : 
The child muft haften homeward 

O'er hill and field and dell ; 
And the golden gates are open 

Where they each in reft fhall dwell. 

O weary heart, take courage ! 

O feet, march on awhile ! 
O bufy hands, ftill labour ! 

Tired eyes fhall fee Him fmile 

Who has within His keeping, 
Still waiting for your claim, 

The perfect Reft of Heaven — 
The gladnefs of His Name. 

No ftorm difturbs the waters, 

No wind makes that repofe ; 
No trumpet calls to battle, 

Nor triumph then the foes : 
Though feafon follows feafon, 

And year fades into year, 
That reft is (till remaining — 

That Heaven fhall ftill appear. 

Take up the burden, Chriftian, 
Bear thou, and labour on, 

A little furrow only 

And the kingdom fhall be won: 

i 5 8 


Only a few more footfteps, 
And then the tranquil Reft \ 

Only a few more longings, 

And then the fheltering Breaft. 


[USING over friends departed, loved ones 
known and miffed and gone, 
As November's fun was fmiling fpeaking 
fummer to the morn, 
Autumn-blooms were fweet and odorous in their 

lateft parting breath, — 
Yet gazing upon Beauty I could only dream of 

Golden fhower-clouds drifting purpled up between 

the Earth and fky, 
Seemed to paufe, as though thanks giving, ere like 

tears they fell to die ; 
Yet Earth in all its fplendour was the goal where 

both were borne, 

160 All Saints' and All Souls' Days 

For I looked not fo far onward as the Refurrection- 

As All Saints' Night went gliding by, fhe wreathed 
the facred hours 

With glory from her coronal of everlafting flowers : 

There came, but not from Earth, a Voice that 
whifpered of the Bleft, 

An echo from that far-off* land in which the wan- 
derers reft. 

The World had fobbed itfelf to fleep, all-filent after 

ftrife 5 
The fhades of Death had vanifhed in the rays of 

endlefs Life ; 
While that Voice Divine thrilled fweeter from the 

Home where angels foar, 
As It whifpered " Saints are mining as the ftars for 


At All Saints', Lambeth, 1%JJ. 1 61 

While the Holy Souls are thirfting for our Eucharifts 

and prayer — 
Chrift have pity ! Lady help them ! Mount they foon 

the golden ftair ! 
And may all at laft God's mercy know, when finking 

on Earth's breaft, 
<l Where the wicked ceafe from troubling and the 

weary are at reft." 

Frederick George Lee. 

All Saints', Lambeth, 
Nov. i , 1877. 


UNFALL, and yet no night ! Fire floods 
the earth ! 
A molten rainbow flakes the northern 
The Polar gates unclofe ; and gleaming forth 

Troop the wild flames that glide and glare on high, 
Tinged in their vaulted home with that deep 
ruddy dye ! 


Whence flafh thefe myftic fignals ? what the fcene 
Where the red rivers find their founts of flame ? 
Far, far away, where icy bulwarks lean 


i6 5 

Along the deep, in feas without a name : 
Where the vaft porch of Hades rears its giant 
frame ! 


The underworld of fouls ! fever'd in twain : 

One, the fell North, perplexed and thick with 
gloom ; 
And one, the South, that calm and glad domain, 
Where afphodel and lotus lightly bloom 
'Neath God's own Starry Crofs, the fhield of 
peaceful doom. 


No queft of man mall touch — no daring keel 
Cleave the dark waters to their awful bourne : 

None fhall the living fepulchre reveal 

Where feparate fouls muft throng, and paufe ; 

and yearn 
For their far duft, the fignal, and their glad return. 



Ay ! ever and anon the gates roll wide, 

When whole battalions yield their fudden breath ; 
And ghofts in armies gather as they glide, 

Still fierce and vengeful, from the field of death : 
Lo ! lightnings lead their hofts, and meteors glare 

Robert S. Hawker. 

November 10, 1870. 


AY all good angels watch around my 
May holy fpirits fhield it with their care, 
Each wayward thought within its precincts quelling: 
I afk a blefling on it, in my prayer, 
From Thee, O Lord, Who ruleft everywhere. 

Angel of fleep, O may'ft thou ever carry 

Unto its inmates vifions fair and bright ! 

Angels of Peace and Love, within it tarry 

And fhed around this hearth thy radiant light : 
Angel of Strength, defend it through the night. 

Angel of Hope, when we are lone and dreary, 

Whifper that dawn will follow midnight (hade ; 

Angel of Faith, when our fad hearts are weary, 
Uplift thy regal banner undifmayed 
Before pale phantoms which make us afraid. 

M 2 


My He 


Home, whence I truft to pafs to life imiliortal 

When the calm fleep of Death hath clofed mine 
eyes ; 

I look upon thee only as the portal 

Of God's bright Manfion far beyond the Ikies — 
Of the refplendent Home in Paradife ! 

Helen Montagu Stuart. 


KERS, George. 

Alexander, William. 

Batt, Nora. 
Baynes, Robert Hall. 
Blew, William John. 
C. A. M. W. 
Caswall, Edward. 
Clyne, Norval. 
De Vere, Aubrey. 
Dix, William Chatterton. 
Dolben, Digby Mackworth. 
Earle, John Charles. 
Green, William Edward. 
Hawker, Robert Stephen. 
Lee, Elvira Louisa. 
Lee, Frederick George. 
Monsell, J. S. B. 
Morgan, Arthur Middlemore. 

1 6 8 Alphabetical List of Authors. 

Moultrie, Gerard. 
Mozley, H. W. 
Newman, John Henry. 
Oxenham, Henry Nutcombe. 


Purchas, John. 

Ranking, B. Montgomerie. 

Rossetti, Christina G. 

Stuart, Helen Montagu. 

" The Departed and other Poems," The 

Authoress of. 
Vicars, Hedley. 


HOUSE of prayer once confecrate . 
Another fleeting day is gone . 
As childhood wanes our dreams become 
lefs fair .... 

A fad fweet end ...... 

A ftately Palace of the Triune God. 

A Temple, backed with trees and bafed with turf 

At morn I plucked a rofe and gave it Thee 

Babe, awake ! the fun is high . 

Brother! after fet of day . 

Carol while yet thy life is in its fpring 

Come, bleft Redeemer of the earth . 

Could (lie, that Deftined one, could (lie 

Down below, the wild November whittling 

Gone, for them, the time of forrow, paffed for ever toi 

and pain .... 
Hail, my guardian fpirit, hail . 
How long, O Saviour, wilt Thou ftay ? 
I made myfelf a myrtle crown . 
I make not fongs, but only find 
In the ancient ftory .... 
In the myftic realm of (lumber, in the quiet land of 





9 1 
1 1 












I faw " the waves of this troublefome world," raging 

and dark and cold .... 

Is this, indeed, our ancient earth ? . 
Let the fun fummon all his beams to hold 
Lord of the living and the dead 
May all good angels watch around my dwelling 
Mufing over friends departed, loved ones known and 

miffed and gone . ... 

Night falls apace, the fhades grow long . 
O Eaftward fpeed in gentle thought 
O Lord, we know that all who love Thy Name 
O to have wandered in the days that were 
O toilers in Life's vineyard 
Oh union wonderful and true .... 
Praife, O praife the Lord of Heaven 
Prefs each on each, fweet wings, and roof me in 
Ruthleffly the bare bright wheel of antique Time goes 

round ....... 

Say not that hours are lonelier now and darker . 
She was his playmate when a child : and in Life 

golden hours ..... 

Sunfall, and yet no night ! Fire floods the earth ! 
The blafts of chill December found . 
The Vefper Bell is pealing foft 
The day was done : befide the fultry more 
The grafs is rank, the (hades are deep 
















l 7- 

The World is very foul and dark 
The fun mines bright and glorious, and the hill top 
are illumed ...... 

Thy Hands have made me ! in foul-faving flood 
'Twas feftal day in Heaven .... 

We give Thee thanks, O Lord our God . 
When man abode in Paradife .... 

When by Thine altar, Lord, I kneel 
When tempefts ceafe at elofe of day . 
Whifper the angel voices foft and kind 
White is the colour of angels .... 

White were the ftairs of marble ftone 
Why mould we vex our foolifh minds 





6 9 



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